Nice Work If You Can Get It
by brightblue
Summary: Tony and Ziva go undercover as a married couple again. This time it's a little more complicated. Tony/Ziva, completely.


**AN: Thank you to those waiting so patiently for an update to The Violet Hour! I promise more is coming. I'm working on it, but it's slow going. I expect another update soon though! This was a little mental break. Thanks, Jae, for the kick in the butt/challenge. I've had this idea FOR YEARS and several half-started version and then it call kind of came together as this. Mostly it's an excuse for flirty, happy, giddy Ziva because girlfriend deserves it!**

**Disclaimer: *laughs forever***

**Let me know what you think! Enjoy!**

_**Loving one who loves you**_  
_**And then taking that vow**_  
_**It's nice work if you can get it**_  
_**And if you get it, won't you tell me how?**_

_Undercover. Married. Tony. _

These are the few words that Ziva registers in Vance's debriefing. Her face remains impassive as the words bounce around her brain. She fights to keep her expression interested, professional, though her mouth twitches into something between a smirk and a grimace anyway. She concentrates on deflecting the dangerous glances thrown at her by Tony and Gibbs from either direction. She knows that to meet even one of those looks would be to betray one of the many emotions brewing in her at the moment.

_Married. Undercover. Lovers. Passionate display._

She catches a strangled sound threatening to emerge from her throat and swallows it down. Tony is looking at her so hard, is so silently begging her to turn his way, that she wants to clock him in the face. She squeezes her hands into fists.

"We know Richter is jealous of happy couples. We know she'll be attending the charity ball tonight."

_Nod. Smile. No, not like _that_. Ignore DiNozzo's leer. Ignore the heat of his body as he leans toward you. Ignore his scent. Ignore, ignore, ignore. Pretend you're not anticipating his hands on you or how sharp he looks in a suit. That was _not_ a shiver down your spine. Deny. Lie. Pretend._

They can be masters of deception, but they are terrible at pretending.

* * *

"Ziva, will you let me do the romantic thing?" Tony's tone is part impatience, part taunt. He has her left hand secured in one of his. His other hand is wrapped around a black velvet box, one of the evidence locker's finest offerings of stolen jewels. The timbre of his voice hits her low and deep, or maybe it's just the twinkle in his eyes.

_Not like this_, she thinks, trying to breathe normally. They've worked so hard all year to get to this place. They are on a precipice now, just waiting to jump. Three months out of the elevator and they still haven't quite moved apart. They've been honest. They've been patient. They've taken care lest this whole fragile thing crumble around them. And now…

Vance needs a passionate display.

She rolls her eyes, huffs a bit. Tony's hand is warm around hers and just a little clammy. She ignores the butterflies that have taken residence in her stomach. Whether they are a result of her nerves about her current predicament or some omen of how awful this whole idea is, she doesn't know.

"Get on with it, DiNozzo," Ziva taps her foot impatiently. She hopes it hides the tremble in her hands.

He looks up at her from under unfairly long lashes. A little quirk draws her attention to his lips. She looks away quickly.

"Ziva David," he breathes, reeling her back in. "Will you do me the honor of being my partner? In this mission and in all missions forward? Will you have my six? Save my ass? And let me have your back? From now until forever?"

He's teasing, yes, but maybe not completely. Her own hand goes a bit sweaty now too as she nods. He first slides a diamond eternity band onto her finger and then a matching engagement ring on top of that, another diamond-encrusted band supporting a princess-cut diamond. They are a little flashy for her taste, but undeniably beautiful. She twists her hand a bit, taking in her new accessories as they catch the fluorescent light. He watches her, serious as anything. When she lets herself look at him, something crackles between them, louder than ever before.

But what if this is _real_? What if he's not just…yanking her rope? In Tony's goofiest moments, he is often the most truthful. Her eyes flick rapidly between his earnest expression and the glittering rings. Her cheeks burn.

She exhales, short and hard, a burst of emotion. Her own promises tumble out, "_Yes_. Of course."

Over eager, probably, but she doesn't care because of the bright, toothy smile that steals across his face.

_Undercover. That's all. A mission. Pretend. Lie._

She's stuck in this moment, unsure where to go next. Tony doesn't release her from his grasp. His eyes won't seem to shut up, either, taunting her with their ever-changing color.

_Married. Tony. Lovers. _

"If you're _done_," Gibbs' voice penetrates the little world they've founded in the midst of the bullpen.

Yanking her hand away from Tony, Ziva's embarrassed gaze stumbles into their boss's penetrating stare. An eyebrow lifts up. Coffee is sipped. Gibbs rocks back on his heels and says nothing else.

Well. He knows.

* * *

The smolder she gets from Tony when she saunters into the bullpen, heavy sway in her hips as the pink chiffon of her dress floats and flutters around her body, gives her a boost of confidence, a tether of familiarity. She pushes the sleek curls that frame her face aside to see him better. The man can wear a tux. She grins.

"Nice work if you can get it," he croons with a little bounce.

She giggles. _Giggles_! And fusses a bit with her dress. It is striking and over-the-top, meant to catch the jealous eye of their suspect. She feels a bit like a fairytale princess with the smattering of sequins and prettiness of it all. Odd. There have been many similar missions before, many fancy dresses and cover stories. Perhaps it is the way her dress shimmers in the light, matching the diamonds on her finger, or all the time she spent painting her face, creating a look mostly just for this moment—she knows this is just play so, dammit, she wants to have fun with it. Tony is certainly no prince and normally she wouldn't be caught dead in soft pink chiffon, but she has never been to a prom, never had this moment of utter frivolity and flirtiness and, well, she wants it. Just for now.

"You look _stunning_," Tony beams and maybe that was a bit of a giggle from him, too.

She blushes, honestly blushes, and doesn't quite know what to do with her hands next. Smooth as ever, Tony offers up his arm and she takes it, wrapping both her hands around his bicep.

From the way he struts to the elevator, Tony knows he looks like a movie star. She glances down at her hands while they wait for the doors to open. Tony reaches up to pat her where she holds him. His hand nearly covers hers but there they are, winking at her in the dimmed office light, the rings he put on her finger with vows that weren't connected to their cover and a matching gold band on his hand. Her heart flutters.

"Showtime," her partner, her husband just for tonight, murmurs into her ear as they step into the elevator.

But if the curtain is only going up now, then what was all that business before?

…and how will they ever make it through this mission?

* * *

"Good work, guys, Richter is watching." McGee's voice is even and reasonable, if a bit tinny, in her ear. It keeps her from losing herself completely in her partner.

"We make a good pair," Tony mumbles as he twirls them around the dance floor. "Of course she's watching us."

She lets Tony lead just so she can concentrate on their target, their mission, and not on the way his hand feels so strong and reassuring on the small of her back. Or how she can somehow still feel the warmth of his skin under her palm despite the layers of fabric in between. She agrees, though, because she's caught a glimpse of them in the room's mirrored walls and they do look like a bit like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, as much as any couple could, as they glide together. She wants to ask Tony where he learned to dance like this but doesn't want to break the spell.

His breath tickles her ear as his eyes sweep across the room. She leans in closer reflexively. She hums along to the song being played. She ignores McGee's retort in her ear.

The band plays a slow, jazzy tune and she wishes more than anything this wasn't just another day at work. They do make a good pair.

* * *

An older man, Tony thirty years down the line, she thinks, asks to cut in and Tony releases her with a flourish.

"Get me another drink, honey?" She asks of her husband, eyelashes batting, sugar in her tone.

"Anything for you, sweets," he winks, then turns to Ziva's new dance partner. "I'll be watching you, champ! That's _my _wife!" He waves a finger at the laughing man and waltzes off the dance floor.

"Your husband thinks he's Gatsby or something," the man chuckles and nearly steps on her toes.

Ziva gives him a genuine smile, even as Tim answers with a snide remark in her ear. "He certainly does."

Watching her partner as she shuffles around the dance floor, Ziva rides a wave of affection. He easily draws the attention he seeks. He chats up the bartender before turning back to watch her. Their eyes meet and even from across the room, she can feel the heat of his gaze. Only because it suits her cover, she allows herself to send an appreciative look in return.

"Ah, young love," her dance partner says when he realizes what's happening.

Two women in sleek, black evening gowns and spray tans sidle up to Tony. Ziva smirks when he chokes on his drink in response. He flirts with them in an insincere, over the top manner to ruffle their target. It's Tony's subtle body language that entrances her, though—the way his left hand flaps in the air, ring gleaming in the light; how he leans back on the bar, legs crossed, closing himself off subconsciously. She turns away, chin up, confident in her pretend husband's fidelity.

Tony is trying to gracefully extract himself from a conversation with an aggressive woman in red.

"Thank you, darling," Ziva purrs as she fits herself against her partner. She drapes her body over his, feeling him tense in response, as she reaches for her fresh drink. It's only club soda with lime, but she makes a show of sipping on it nevertheless.

"Anything for you," he simpers in response. His fingers squeeze her hip, low, and make her jump.

"Did you make a new friend?" Ziva tilts her head at the interloper, sending the woman her fiercest glare.

The woman in red turns to Ziva with cold eyes, "Your husband is very friendly."

"Oh, yes, he _loves_ to talk," she rolls her eyes as Tony laughs uncomfortably. She runs a slow hand down his jaw. "But we have better things to do now, yes?"

The woman in red makes a distressed noise when Tony's attention shifts completely to Ziva. As Tony's eyes narrow on her glossy lips, the woman slinks away unnoticed.

"Thank you for scaring off Lady Botox," Tony whispers into her skin as his lips flutter across her cheek. She wraps an encouraging hand around his wrist as he enfolds her in his embrace. He runs his nose along her neck. Warmth spreads through her body.

"You are wearing a ring," Ziva laughs softly as he pulls back just a little. She keeps her arm wrapped around his waist, not letting him get too far away. "Isn't that supposed to keep them away?"

"Doesn't seem to matter," Tony shrugs. "I'm like catnip to the ladies."

There's a chorus of snorts and groans in response to that.

"I think women find a man in a wedding ring attractive," Ziva theorizes. "It shows he is willing to commit to a life with one woman. There's something sexy about that."

"Uh huh," Tony's eyes darken and he studies her face. She can feel his heart thudding loud and quick in his chest. The temperature in the air surrounding them climbs. He reaches to drop his empty glass on the bar, now using two hands to hold her close to him. Ziva jumps when his ice-cold fingers trail down the skin of her back.

"And what if it's _your_ ring he is wearing," Tony murmurs into her ear, the one without the comm. Ziva runs a hand down his back. She shudders against him.

When he pulls back enough to see her expression in response, she can only raise an eyebrow in challenge before Gibbs throws cold water on the whole thing.

"Richter is interested. Move this somewhere more private."

With a grin and a jerk of his head, Tony grabs her hand and pulls her toward a dark hallway off the ballroom. Ziva abandons her drink on the bar as she follows him. She keeps her face light and happy, just another woman in love.

It doesn't take that much effort.

* * *

There is a moment of hesitation once he crowds her against he wall in the unlit corridor. He doesn't want to trap her, she can tell, but it's Tony and of course she trusts him with this. She levels him with a heated gaze, nodding her approval. His hands hover, unsure where to land, where to touch. She grabs the lapels of his jacket, making the choice for him, tilting him toward her as she leans against the wall. Her gaze drops to his lips. Their breaths catch in their throat at the sudden closeness, a mutual expression of want. His eyes search her face; she tips her chin up, parting her lips, inviting him.

But his expression softens into something like concern, like uncertainty. This will cross a line. This will take them farther than ever before. This isn't Sophie and Jean-Paul. This is _them_. Isn't it? She becomes clouded by her own insecurities about this situation. Her grip wrinkles the fabric of his tux.

There is so much to say. But, like always, time is not on their side.

"Get on with it," Gibbs commands in their ears. "You'll lose Richter."

Permission granted. No time to discuss it, only to jump. They collide. Tony's fingers clutch at her hips, pulling her near then, just when she wants more, holding her at a distance. His mouth burns against hers. She can't kiss him deeply enough. Her hands are in his hair, playing, tugging, keeping him close. She sucks on his tongue and he groans into her mouth; the vibrations create her own gasp in response. She rocks her body against his. They are a mess of clashing tongues and clicking teeth. They are greedy and reckless. Any thought of the case leaves Ziva's mind as Tony's muscles tense and release under her touch.

She needs to feel him, all of him, everywhere. Tony's left hand finds the naked skin of her back, smoothing over her heated flesh. She notes the cool bite of the gold band on his finger. There's a sudden wave of anxiety at that, of awareness, of knowing she absolutely believes whatever lie they are living right now.

She's tired of pretending. Haven't they been down this road before? It was so different then and yet. Have they _ever_ been just pretending?

"Mmm, Tony…" She can't help the breathy words that fall from her lips as he moves to her neck. She knows it's an opening to get eyes on their suspect but she can hardly see through the haze of lust he has stirred within her; she spots the silhouette of a female down the corridor, back in the ballroom, and it might be someone watching them but that person is so far and Tony is nipping at her ear lobe now. Something like a squeak comes out of her when Tony catches her mouth with his again, biting gently on her bottom lip. He hitches her leg up by her thigh, pushing her against the wall, giving them a better angle for hips and mouths to meet. Ziva grips his neck as their bodies meld even closer, as she devours his mouth. She doesn't want this to end, not ever, but she knows…

"Uh. Guys. You have a very grossed out audience right now."

McGee's voice is the cold shower they need. Wrenching his mouth from hers, Tony drops his head and chuckles into her collarbone. His breath prickles her skin and she laughs in return, stroking the back of his neck. He still has hold of her leg, though, and doesn't release their pose. She grinds against his arousal, teasing, and he quivers in her arms.

"Shit, Ziva," he mumbles as he peppers kisses along her jaw. Neither of them is ready to stop yet. Far from it. Her breaths come heavy and out of rhythm. Wrapping her arm around his neck, she just hugs him close and inhales his scent. She can still taste him in her mouth.

"Someone _is_ watching," Ziva confirms, forcing her mind back on the mission at hand. Her voice is an octave too low. She rests her cheek on Tony's shoulder and lowers her leg to the ground. "But it is too dark to confirm if it is Richter."

"Copy that," Gibbs confirms. "Wait it out another minute." There's a long pause. Tony's hands travel down her sides, smoothing the fabric of her dress, drawing heat from her body, and resting dangerously low on her ass. Ziva sighs, frustrated. "But turn down the heat. This isn't a skin flick."

Tony grunts his annoyance, but wisely keeps his mouth shut. Their eyes meet for the first time. She can't help the smile that blooms on her lips when she reads affection and desire in oceanic depths of his gaze. He touches her cheek gently and grins in return. Her body is singing for him, for more of his touch. It takes all the willpower she can summon not to kiss him again.

He leans into her ear like maybe he's about to say something but a quick flash of movement startles her from his arms.

"It's Richter," Tony barks, untangling their bodies.

Their suspect approaches, eyes wild and gun drawn. A surge of adrenaline propels Ziva forward. In a few practiced moves, she has Richter disarmed and in a hold.

"And in an evening gown!" Tony beams, winking at Ziva as he releases the clip from the confiscated gun and pops the bullet from the chamber. He places them all in different pockets.

"Do not forget the stilettos," Ziva reminds, a little out of breath. She sneers at Richter when the woman struggles against her.

"Can you believe how lucky I am to have married her?" Tony coos to Richter, ignoring her answering snivel. He helps Ziva with her restraint. Ziva rolls her eyes at him but she feels a bit fuzzy nevertheless.

Then Gibbs and McGee are leading a few Metro PD patrol officers toward them and the job takes over.

* * *

The darkened bullpen is somehow more romantic than the ballroom with all its glitz and fanfare, or maybe it's because they are alone at last. Tony has shed his jacket. His bow tie is undone, framing the open neck of his shirt, and he's rolled up his shirtsleeves. He stares out at the twinkling lights of D.C., one hand leaning against the window. Ziva, for her part, ditched her shoes long ago and has done her best to secure her hair at the nape of her neck. There aren't many options for dressing down a gown, though; at least she can say she's done an interrogation while wearing a fluffy pink dress.

Ziva twists at the rings that adorn her finger. Those she hasn't bothered to take off either. She likes the sparkle, the weight of them, on her hand. Typing up her notes, she finds herself watching her fingers and daydreaming.

"You done yet, David?" Tony asks, not looking back her way. He must've noticed the absence of her keyboard tapping.

"Just about," she responds as she saves her files and begins to shut down her computer. She watches him as her computer works. She studies the long, sturdy lines of his body. She remembers how nicely she fit against him. Latent desire buzzes through her.

He turns slowly and meets her thoughtful gaze. She catches a flicker of heat pass across his face. Brushing a stray curl from her face self-consciously, she struggles for an easy smile under his intensity. She fails miserably.

"What next, Ziva?" His voice is deep and smooth.

Not quite sure how to answer, Ziva stands up and begins to gather her belongings.

"I'm not sure what you mean…" The words ring false even in her own ears.

By the time she stuffs her feet back into her heels, she finds him hovering near. Just that slight closeness, the vague hint of musk and sandalwood and something a bit sweeter, and her heart is thrumming a staccato beat in her chest. She inhales sharply but doesn't seem to catch any air; she goes a bit dizzy.

"What. Next." He repeats and the arrogance of it sets her on edge.

"Tony, now is _not_ the time," she dismisses, trying to shove past him. The situation is now too close. Suffocating. Terrifying.

He catches her arm. Keeps her near. Her gaze trails from where he clutches her up to meet his eyes in one slow movement. A moment stretches into eternity as they watch each other, waiting for someone to make the next move. She knows, they _both_ know, what happens next because they've crossed a line, tasted the apple, and there is no going back, scary as that is. His thumb traces the soft skin of her forearm and a tremble starts from somewhere deep inside her. No, she can't deny it, not when he's this close.

"Tony, I—

But Gibbs clears his throat all of a sudden and they split apart, lightning quick.

"Agents," he warns as he comes into view. Ziva avoids his eyes, snatching up her bag and coat.

"Hey, boss, we were just…" Tony should have never started that sentence because there is no safe answer. Ziva shoots him a look and earns a sheepish shrug in return.

Gibbs holds up two ring boxes in one hand. "Unless you're planning on keeping them?"

His words are light enough but they are both well-versed in Gibbs-speak and so pick up on the bite below the surface.

"Uh, no…" Tony hedges and it flusters Ziva even more when he steals a glance in her direction. She doesn't watch as he tugs the ring from his hand; she listens to her own labored breath as she works the diamonds from her own finger.

Like guilty children, they hand over their toys to Gibbs' outstretched palm.

"Hope you enjoyed playing dress up," Gibbs says, this time his tone is smooth as steel and just as cold. He glances at each of them in turn. "Playtime is over."

Ziva holds his gaze. She says nothing.

"Dismissed," he barks as he stuffs the boxes into his jacket pocket.

Ziva scurries to leave. Tony tries to follow her, she can tell, but she can't deal with all of this right now. Most people would say her instinct to fight is strong; Ziva has always known that flight is her greatest defense. She is grateful when Tony fumbles with his belongings and she makes it to the elevator first.

* * *

Back at her apartment, Ziva showers immediately. Washing her hair and scrubbing the make-up from her face gives her back some semblance of normalcy. It helps to be wearing yoga pants instead of an evening dress.

Sitting in the darkness with a glass of wine, Ziva can't relax. There is still an energy that hums through her body, an awareness. The arousal Tony stirred in her skin hasn't quite abated and it makes her feel itchy and restless. Unsatisfied.

Ziva groans into the silence. Well, isn't that just like him? For a moment she contemplates taking the edge off herself but as her hand trails down her own thigh she knows, tonight at least, it won't be enough. Not when she can still taste Tony on her tongue

She closes her eyes and lets out a deep breath. A jolt of pleasure pieces her core when she recalls Tony's kisses, every sense calling up a memory. She sips her wine. Dammit. Sleep will be impossible.

There is a knock at her door. Ziva lets out a sigh of relief. Finally.

Predictably, she finds Tony standing in her doorway, freshly showered and dressed down.

She holds the door open but says nothing. She isn't sure she could speak above the roaring in her head anyway. Because they both know where this is going and the sudden anticipation of him touching her, teasing her, filling her is almost too much.

"I need…" Tony begins, eyes so dark they are nearly emerald, and she bites her lip as he advances toward her. She nods, understanding. "I _couldn't_…"

His search for words is admirable. But he has so many other qualities to appreciate.

She can't wait any longer. She throws herself forward, closing the distance between them, and presses her lips against his before he can say any more.

His arms squeeze her almost painfully close as they kiss. There is no case now, no Gibbs or McGee in their ears, no rings, no cover. It's just them, wanting each other, and finally, _finally_ getting there.

Grasping at one another, clawing at clothes, searching for skin, they stumble back into her apartment.

"Door," Ziva reminds him, and they each flail about, blind, until someone manages to swing the door shut.

Ziva pulls back enough to work Tony out of his coat and shirt. "Is this what you wanted next?" Ziva teases, giddy with lust, almost high from the feeling of his hands on her skin. She runs her nails down his chest, liking the goose bumps she gets in response.

Tony smirks. "Oh god, _yes_." He tugs at her clothes, too, and soon they are laughing and teasing one another in a fight to get the other naked first. And if there was stress and hesitation before, now all they can feel is elation. There is nowhere to go but forward now. Ziva wins their little battle, of course, and entices a smirking Tony back to her bedroom with a striptease.

* * *

It's that golden time of morning when they finally lay quietly in bed.

Tony dozes and maybe this time he won't recover as quickly, which is fine, because Ziva's whole body aches in the most delicious way. They are finally sated, for now.

Ziva isn't quite tired yet so she remains propped up on a mess of pillows, Tony's head resting against her stomach. Their hands are still threaded together and Ziva twists and turns her wrist to study the familiar appendage. She smiles softly. Her thumb traces over his ring finger, imagining.

"All you have to do is ask," Tony mumbles through sleep. One hazel eye blinks up at her, amused.

"Like I said, I thought a ring was supposed to deter other women," Ziva murmurs back. She surprises herself by not denying her current state of mind. But in this sleepy, heavy time of day she can't imagine feeling any closer to this man than she is now. She doesn't want to tarnish that with half-truths and evasive maneuvers. "If it will not stake my claim, then what is the point?"

Tony chuckles; his whiskers scratch her belly. "Love. Commitment." He squeezes her hand.

Ziva studies him, overcome with emotion. Her eyes water a bit. "Oh. Yes. _Those_."

"Admit it turned you on, me wearing your ring." Tony flips over, drapes an arm across her middle, and uses that to prop his head. His hair is a wreck. His eyes twinkle up at her.

Ziva just raises her eyebrows at him and yawns. "Wherever would you get that idea?"

Tony snorts. "Fine. I will admit that I really, really enjoyed our assignment."

Gloating, Ziva strokes his hair. Tony's eyes slide closed. "I will give Gibbs your glowing review."

"I liked calling you my wife," Tony admits, half-asleep now.

With a happy sigh, Ziva shifts them both so she can curl up in Tony's arms. Once her head is pillowed on Tony's chest, she whispers her response into his skin. "All you have to do is ask."

He squeezes her closer in response.


End file.
